


bend my ear

by whiplash



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Conversations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It pains her, the knowledge that her son will never be as carefree as he ought to be. As he would have been if she had never abandoned him in the care of a monster. But even with the guilt eating away at her, even Chas can't deny that Aaron looks far better now than he had a few months ago. He seems well-rested, a healthy glow to his skin and a reassuring brightness in his eyes. And even though his hands keep busy, it's his phone he's fiddling with now, not his sleeves."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	bend my ear

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a three-part piece, but I think it's time to face that I won't be finishing this particular story. Sorry - hopefully it can stand well enough on its own as a little snippet.

“Aaron looks good,” Paddy says, approaching the subject out of nowhere.

The two of them are having dinner together, Marlon sighing as he brings them matching cheeseburgers with chips and Charity glaring at her from behind the bar. As if the pub's so busy that Chas can't take half an hour to share a meal with an old friend. 

“Makes for a nice change to see him dressed in something other than black too, don't you think?” Paddy continues, a fond smile on his face as he glances over to where Aaron's propping up the bar. Chas follows his eyes, thinking back to how frayed Aaron had looked just a few months earlier and comparing that memory with the man standing in front of them now. The shadows are still there, she thinks, lurking in the corner of his rare smiles and hiding in the soft slope of his shoulders. 

It pains her, the knowledge that her son will never be as carefree as he ought to be. As he would have been if she had never abandoned him in the care of a monster. But even with the guilt eating away at her, even Chas can't deny that Aaron looks far better now than he had a few months ago. He seems well-rested, a healthy glow to his skin and a reassuring brightness in his eyes. And even though his hands keep busy, it's his phone he's fiddling with now, not his sleeves. 

“He's better,” she agrees, picking at her chips. “Being with Robert suits him.” 

Paddy frowns and looks away. To him, Robert's involvement in Aaron's life still makes for a sore subject.

“Being a big brother suits him,” he mutters. 

Then he hesitates. Looks away. Plays with his coaster. 

“Spit it out,” she orders. 

“Do you know if he's in therapy?” he asks, voice low and rushed. 

“Goes every Wednesday,” Chas confirms. “Robert gives him a ride. They have tea out and all.” 

“That's... good. That's really good, isn't it?” 

There's relief in his voice, but also amazement. She nods, sharing the sentiment. Remembers, just as Paddy must, how they'd struggled to make Aaron see a counselor in the past. After the suicide attempt. After Jackson's death. After the self-harm began. Just as she's about to return her attention to her meal Paddy leans across the table, dragging his sleeve in his food and almost tipping over his pint. He looks equal parts awkward and miserable and, even before he starts stuttering, she knows what's coming. 

“And is he still, you know, is he-” 

“-hurting himself,” she fills in and as he nods Chas imagines that his shoulders sag in relief at not having to say the words out loud. 

Chas looks at her son again. Robert's joined him now, his big hand splayed across the small of Aaron's back. She remembers dozens of other casual touches between them – Robert's hand brushing against Aaron's arm, his socked feet resting in Aaron's lap as they watch telly in the evening, his lips pressing against the top of Aaron's head as he leaves for work in the morning – and tries to recall exactly when her son became alright with public displays of affection. 

“Don't know,” she quietly admits, her eyes locked on the one person, besides her son, who would know for certain. Suddenly unable to meet Paddy's eyes, she pushes away her plate and reaches for her wine glass instead. 

It tastes sour in her mouth.


End file.
